


A Collection of Regrets

by Kate_A_OConnell



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Diary/Journal, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_A_OConnell/pseuds/Kate_A_OConnell
Summary: Clearing out Nightcaller temple was just the beginning.  Following in the wake of chaos that is the day-to-day for Lilietha "Lee" of Balmora (well, the ruins thereof, anyway), Erandur soon finds himself facing down a whole new slew of nightmares... but finding new purpose as well.Potential for future chapters, possible slow (slow) burn, but mostly a lot of me adding motivations and backstories to fill in the gaps for my own amusement.Please note that I haven't written anything in years, so bear with me as I attempt to remember how to string together a sentence.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Erandur
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Sun’s Dusk, 10 Middas : Every end is a new beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I play with a LOT of mods, but the ones to be aware of as of this chapter are...
> 
> Skyrim Unbound - permits you to start almost anywhere in Skyrim, with any configuration of gear, choose whether or not to be dragonborn...and most importantly, lets you learn shouts from word walls before you even start the main quest. Note that Lee is not aware she is "dragonborn" just yet, and assumes her ability to pick up words off the "word walls" is something everyone (or at least the magically gifted) is able to do. 
> 
> Meeko Reborn - Makes the mutt a lot more useful, and also offers four different "skins". Normally, I use brown dog with the dwemer leg for Lee, but on the latest play through ended up using the white "Stark" version instead... and rather like the look, especially paired with...
> 
> Horses of Skyrim - Adds a lot of freebie mounts to the game and redoes the look of the rest. Most importantly for this story, it changes the dapple grey horse you find on the northern coast - the free horse at the abandoned camp just north of Snow Veil Sanctum - into a silver mare. Lee calls her Mzul, which means "snow" in Dwemeri. Supposedly.
> 
> Dwemer Goggles and Scouter - Fantastic gear mod. It's a bit of a pain to get normally in game, so I use the idea that Lee found a pair during her time digging through Dwemer ruins in Morrowind (and use console commands). 
> 
> Apophysis Dragon Priest Masks - Awesome redesign of the masks. It's not a major point - the descriptions used so far could match the original masks too - but that's the mod I'm using right now. It's especially creepy with the Dwemer goggles mod.
> 
> Simple Bathing - adds baths to the inns. 
> 
> Torch Cremation - lets you cremate corpses with a torch, fire spell, or flame-enchanted weapon. It always seems so very unhygienic and cruel to leave a bunch of bodies laying around... What if that gets into the local water source?!
> 
> Note on "accent"   
> Going off the accent the Dunmer have developed by the time of Skyrim, I figured that fresh-overboard-the-boat Lee would have a much thicker brogue than Erandur...that and being of the lowest class from the wastelands of Vvardenfell, she is bound to sound quite a bit different in any regard. As a once aspiring bard, I also thought it made some sense that Erandur would try and capture that sound, as well as take a more creative/dialog-heavy approach to his journal entries than I might in my own personal journal. (It's also just a lot more interesting to write and, I hope, to read.)  
> I've also incorporated a few dunmeri phrases which, according to various online dictionaries, roughly translate to the following...  
> N'chow = something akin to "damn"  
> S'wit = Idiot, slack wit  
> F'lah = mate, buddy.  
> Scuttlebrain = dumbass  
> N'wah = a derogatory term for 'foreigner', but something of an all purpose insult. M-f***er might be the best translation in most contexts.
> 
> Chapter headings are supposed to be reminiscent of a tenant of Holy scripture or a proverb that Erandur finds apt or wants to meditate on.  
> And yeah, the title overall comes from how Rundil in Falkreath describes his own journal... Seems it fits our own ex-cultist priest as well.

Mara be praised, it is done. The staff is destroyed, and the people of Dawnstar can rest easy once again… even if I cannot. No, I don’t think I will sleep well, certainly not tonight. Not with their faces, the faces of my friends… 

“We had no choice,” she said, and she was right. Veren and Thorek would have killed us both in service of their dark mistress… and awakened from their long slumber, with the staff in their grasp and the bandits dealt with… No, we had no choice. Still, the blood of those I once called “brother” stains deep and permanent. I doubt I will rest easy for a long time, even if Lady Mara protects me from Vaermina’s vengeance.

At least the heroine whose aid proved truly invaluable in this effort sleeps well, her huge white wolf-dog curled up beside her…and at least three different knives tucked into her furs. She doesn’t trust me. ...Well, I can’t say I blame her. I did lie to her after all. But, despite that, she put her faith in me, in the torpor, in the ritual of banishment and my intentions. …Or perhaps more accurately, she put her faith in her own ability to handle anything thrown at her. Certainly, that faith would not be misplaced.

She is an odd one to be sure. Gave the entire inn quite the start when she and her hound stumbled in from the blizzard raging outside, what with that death-head mask she wears. I don’t know I would have approached her at all had it not been that Frida, upon seeing her, smiled wider than I knew she could and waved the woman down. “Well, hello friend!” she had cried out, patting the seat next to her at Thoring’s bar. Later, after the stranger had gone for a soak in the baths, I had asked Frida who she was. 

"Oh, she’s a dear girl. Would you believe, she actually brought me the ring my husband and I had sought all those years ago?” She showed me a deceptively simple but clearly enchanted band now worn proudly on her right hand. “She came into my shop the other day with a sack full of potions and herbs to trade and, well I don’t even remember how exactly, but the ring came up. I told her my husband and I had tracked it down to that spriggan-infested grove to the south, but he passed before we had a chance to figure a way to get it, and, well, wouldn’t you know, she offered to find it for me like it was no trouble at all.” The old lady chuckled at this. “… You know, I normally would have told her not to bother – I’d never forgive myself if some poor soul got themselves killed looking for a trinket after all but… you can tell looking at her, she can hold her own.” And indeed, Old Lady Frida was right.

I had planned to approach the stranger the next morning, get a feel for her and maybe, just maybe, beg her help. True, I may be more…capable in combat than your typical priest, but I knew that I could not take on the task of banishing the skull to Oblivion by myself. I needed someone capable to stand with me - moral backup if nothing else - and, I prayed, to not turn on me if they learned my secret… As it turned out, though, she approached me first…was actually waiting for me when I stumbled out of my bunk in the dim light of early dawn. 

“Oi, so what’s goin’ on with all the folks here complainin’ of nightmares?” Her voice, whispered though it was, still startled me. I had not immediately spotted her, silhouetted by the dying embers of the fire. She was sipping on a mug of what looked to be tea, a half-eaten chunk of bread on the plate in front of her…though it seemed to be in danger of being stolen by the dog who was snuffling at it as best he could from under her arm. Absently, she patted his head. “Sit, Meeko…. An’ you too, if y’like… ‘Randur, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ah, Erandur… Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss….”

“Just call me Lee,” she’d said, taking another swig of her drink. The light was behind her, but even in the darkness I could make out her eyes – large, luminous, and a brilliant blue – which were studying me calmly. Dark tendrils of hair coiled around her angular face, only partially tamed into a messy tail on the top of her head, and held out of her eyes by a curious dwemer-made contraption on her forehead. Goggles, apparently. “So, the nightmare thing?”

“Well,” I cleared my throat as I took a seat across from her. The dog, Meeko, stopped trying to steal his mistress’s breakfast to stare at me, his dark eyes as calmly skeptical as hers. “Yes, the nightmare thing…. The entire town is plagued with them, everyone having the same terrible visions each night and some… not awakening. I came here to try and assist but, so far…” I gestured vaguely. “Prayers and ritual alone, it seems, aren’t enough…”

Lee quirked a brow at me. “I was gonna say that bad dreams ain’t real, and ain’t much t’be done for’m, but the same all o’er town… Sounds positively… Daedric.”

I nodded, cautiously. “Indeed… It is the work of the Daedric lord, Vaermina…” She nodded knowingly at my words, something I found reassuring but also a bit…worrisome. Perhaps she is merely well read, I remember thinking to myself. Perhaps her knowledge comes from stories, and not from… experience. ...Or worse - a desire to experience… 

She had finished her tea then, and cricked her neck to one side, then the other. The joints made a cracking noise, audible even over the crackling of the fire behind her. “So, she got a shrine or somethin’ ‘round here, then?” I nodded, mutely. “And a buncha cultists who need a good thwack upside th’ head?” 

“Er… well…” Behind me, I heard soft moaning. Thoring, restless in his sleep, no doubt lost in some vision of Quagmire. “Unfortunately, I suspect it will take more than a good ‘thwacking’ as you put it but… in so many words…” The moans grew louder. “We shouldn’t discuss this here, though. It could start a panic…”

Her expression was somewhat quizzical, but then she shrugged. “A’ight. Well, let me finish ‘ere and…” She reached for the last of her breakfast, only to find it was gone. We both turned to look at the dog, who beamed back with the most innocent grin…crumbs still clinging to the fluff around his neck. “…I take you in, and this is the thanks I get? Stealin’ my breakfast, after you already had yours?” Her tone was light, but with an undercurrent of annoyance. The dog lowered his ears and rubbed his paw over his face in a motion that almost seemed apologetic. She just shook her head. “Yer a mess, y’know that, f’lah?” and ruffled the dog’s ears. Turning to me, she grinned. “Foundling. Came across him on my way to Solitude. Owner was dead of rockjoint, it seemed. He’s been taggin’ along since. Good dog…even if he does steal my bread, of all things…” 

“Well, ah, he is certainly a fine looking specimen…”

She had grinned and seemed ready to speak when Thoring sat bolt upright, gasping. Throughout the inn, we could hear others screeching, shouting, and even starting to sob. “….yeaaah, pro’lly best to get on this sooner rather than later…” she muttered as she stood and grabbed her gear from next to her.

I whispered a prayer to Lady Mara, then gestured for her to follow. 

I had figured her to be an archer, given the dwemer-metal contraption she had slung across her back, but it turned out that formidable looking weapon was a mere backup for her main tool of choice – a bow she conjured wordlessly as we approached the ruined temple. She crouched just before we fully crested the hill, and though I admit I was utterly puzzled by her behaviour, I followed suit, looking at her expectantly. In a matter of seconds, she had fired off three shots from that spectral bow, and up the way I could hear the spine-tingling shriek of dying spiders. I shivered at the sound. Gods, I detest spiders, and was extremely thankful that my companion had somehow seen them long before they saw us. I wanted to ask, but she had jogged ahead, muttering something about how she was freezing to death out here. She paused a moment to detach the silk-filled spinnerets of one of the downed arachnids, allowing me to catch up to her, and better explain what we would find within… the miasma, the orc bandits… I couldn’t see her expression under that mask, but she seemed to take it all in stride, asking a few questions about the miasma. “Minds are all scrambled pretty much, then,” she had said, a statement more than a question, as we entered the dark sanctuary. “Pro’lly a mercy t’put them down, then.”

…. I’ll let her think that. No point in burdening her soul as well as my own. I suspect she is right, at least to some degree. That many years under the miasma, lost to time and to Mundus… hard to imagine it won’t leave some impact on the mind. But when we came across Veren and Thorek, still at their posts… they seemed the same as I remembered them, their eyes as full of determination and fervor as ever…   
I admit, and Lady Mara forgive me, but I hesitated, even as Veren swung that fiery blade of his toward me. Priest of a dark daedric prince or not, he was still my brother, my friend… Truly, all would have been lost if Lee had not been there, her and that dog. He stumbled back from me just as his blade came down, one of her spectral arrows buried in his chest. Thorek was screaming in the distance, barely audible over the canine’s growls and the blood rushing through my ears… And something else… Lee shouting something, and a rush of cold air, encasing my former brother in a sheet of ice… A spell of some sort, I suppose. And his eyes… even as he died at her hands, they were still fixed on me… his final words a curse that still rings in my ears. “Erandur, how could you?...” 

…We had no choice, Veren… Thorek. …I had no choice. I’ve changed, brothers… And now… among my many other regrets, I add another. That you never had the chance to do the same, to realize the damage being done to yourselves and others on that dark path to Oblivion… I wish …

But it does no good to wish and mull on “what might have beens” and “should haves”. I cannot change the past, only attempt to atone. I will spend the rest of my days here, trying to do just that. This dark place and its cruel shadows of memory… a fitting prison for a sinner such as me. Although… 

I’m still not sure why I said what I did. The skull was gone, banished to the depths of Oblivion where it belongs. I ended the ritual with a prayer of thanks and was catching my breath… the air was still sweet with the scent of roses, Lady Mara’s blessing… and something else…something acrid… I turned, and saw ash where the bodies of my former brothers had been, Lee perching on a bench nearby. The dwemer bow was clasped in one hand, while the other patted the wolf-dog who sat panting at her feet. She must have used some fire spell to cremate the bodies, I realized. Sparing me the sight… 

She tugged off that mask of hers as I slowly descended the stairs, a bit wobbly I admit. Behind the glint of her goggles, I could see the concern in her eyes. I tried to smile, but couldn’t. Instead, I just admitted the truth – this temple had taken its toll on me. She understood, I could tell. Even asked if I was going to be okay. “In time, I believe I will,” I replied, hoping it was the truth. And then… I offered to come with her… Spur of the moment, just like that. I’m honestly not sure what I was thinking. My lot is to atone, alone but for the ghosts of those I betrayed… But she had done so much good and at such risk…all for no real reward. Well, she had seemed excited about the stash of still viable alchemical ingredients in the lab and almost giddy when I suggest she take them if she wants… Still, it seems such a paltry reword… I suppose that is the reason I made the offer. I have nothing to give her, after all, except my service… Though the service of a traitorous old priest hardly seems fitting. She listened to the offer graciously enough, though, patted my shoulder even and said, “thanks”. I told her truly she didn’t need to, that she was the one who should be thanked. “No worries,” she chuckled, before saying something about taking care of the mess and bounding off into the darkness.

I had followed behind, slowly, utterly spent. By the acrid smoke drowning out the sickly sweet odor left by the miasma and the piles of ash where bodies had been, it seemed she indeed was “cleaning up”. I should have stopped her, I suppose – the onerous task of tending to the corpses of my dead friends and their victims should have fallen to me – but… I’ m not sure I had it in me just then. I relegated myself to whispering a prayer over the ashes as I passed, asking that Lady Mara would reach out to those souls lost to the darkness, that she could forgive their transgressions… that she could someday forgive mine.

Lee was standing in the door to the temple when I reached the sanctum, staring out at what seemed to be a flickering wall of white. “Well, seems we ain’t goin’ nowhere for the night, anyway,” she quipped as she closed the door and turned. “Hope Thoring takes good care of Mzul…”

“Mzul?” I had inquired wearily.

“Ah, my horse. Well…not _my_ horse. A horse. Woke me up, she did, nippin’ at my hair. …I was shipwrecked, y’see, on the coast near Winterhold.” She proceeded to tell me then how she had been on a ship bound for Solstheim – they needed help clearing up some old mine, she’d heard, and she'd finally scraped together enough money to get out of the hellish wasteland that is now Vvardenfell – but one of the notorious storms of the Sea of Ghosts had whipped up and, somehow or another, she’d ended up in the freezing ocean. “One minute I was tryin’ to help the crew tie down some bit of rigging or something – I don’t know a damn thing about ships, just doin’ what they tell me y’know – and next thing, I feel like I’ve got a thousand little knives diggin’ into every part o’ my body, and I am gulping in salt water…” When she came to, she was laying next to a camp fire, across from a dead horker, with a silvery mare chewing on her salt-encrusted tresses. Most of her equipment, including her coin purse, was missing. Luckily, though, her prized goggles were still glued to her face. “The rest of it, well, I can mend or rebuild. Wasn’t happy ‘bout it, don’t get me wrong. But could’ve been a helluva lot worse… I’ve asked around the coast cities I’ve been to – Winterhold, Windhelm, Solitude, and now Dawnstar too. No one’s seen hide nor hair of the ship or anyone aboard it. Got a bad feelin’ I might’ve been the only survivor… Hell, me and the horse were the only ones still alive on that shore, even. Found the folks I assume were the ones who saved me, pair of hunters. They were just a few minutes walk from the camp, but… Looked like they picked a fight with a gang of horkers and lost.” She shook her head. “Took care of their remains best I could given I was freezin’ to death – ain’t used to this sort of weather, y’know – then gathered what I could and started lookin’ for some semblance of civilization. Lucky for me, Winterhold was right up the hill a piece…” 

As she told me her story, she moved some of the old pews to the side of the room, before detaching the axe from the backpack she wore. Gesturing to one of the more beat up benches, she asked, “D’you mind me choppin’ this up for firewood? Left my supply with Mzul, and well, it’s freezin’ in here!” I had not noticed the chill myself. I’ve spent much of my life here in Skyrim, in the frozen Pale itself, so perhaps I am somewhat inured to it. But I was hardly going to begrudge the lady an already half-broken piece of furniture. At my nod, she set to work, building a nice stack of kindling and firewood, out of which she soon had a merry blaze going. It feels comforting against my back as I sit here, writing this down.

I admit, I was skeptical when Brother Olef first encouraged me to keep this journal. “Give your big troubles to Mara,” he told me, “but give your little ones to the page.” Obstinate as I was, I insisted it was a waste of time, a dangerous potential source of blackmail… but, tonight I find again that he was right. Perhaps it is forcing myself to work through the day, putting the events into words, or perhaps just the soothing nature of the sound of quill on paper but… The shadows still linger, Veren’s words still echo in my ears...yet, I feel that perhaps I might find sleep. 

Lee has hardly moved since I began on this entry, though the dog has rolled onto his side, and is letting the fire warm his belly. He must be dreaming, given the twitch in his feet and gentle whimpers. They seem to be good dreams, though. I suppose I should set this book aside and see if I can join them in slumber. After all, she was so very kind as to lay out some extra furs for me, despite my protests. I had already arranged some hay in the corner to serve as my bed, but she seemed positively offended by the notion. “Away from the fire? And no blanket? N’chow, you’ll freeze t’death, y’s’wit!” 

She was some what kinder a bit later when she all but shoved a bowl of some sort of soup into my hands. “You need t’eat, f’lah,” she said, and didn’t stop watching me with a stern expression until I’d downed at least some of the bowl. It tasted like ash, as has everything since I first heard of Dawnstar’s plight, but it was warm and soothing. She seemed pleased when I joined her at her fire and finished the bowl. I couldn’t face any of the bread she offered, though, and she didn’t push. Really, it was kind of her to offer to share her meal at all and I regret I was not as gracious in my thanks as I should have been… I shall have to make note and better express my gratitude before she leaves tomorrow.

She will leave, I’m sure. I can’t imagine she would actually want to take me up on that offer. What use would a washed up old priest like me be for a vibrant young….. younger… ? ….well, younger than me, I’m sure. She’s one of those fortunate enough to have features that make it hard to guess. There are creases at her eyes and across her browline, and her skin is scarred and weathered from an undoubtedly harsh life in the ash wastes… Still, I doubt she’s much beyond 50 years, give or take. A youth, by dunmeri standards. hough… to be fair, I also doubt she’s full-blood dunmeri. Not with those eyes and that hair. Part bosmer, perhaps? She is very skilled with her bow, and – forgive me for saying this, but – quite short. Though that could be a lifetime of malnutrition... 

Well, I suppose it hardly matters. It is what’s in one’s soul, not their blood, that determines the worth of a being and all. And by that definition, she is a soul of great value. Someone worth protecting. Someone… well, worth serving were she to actually wish it. 


	2. Sun’s Dusk, 11 Turdas: The wicked will be punished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rumored case of missing persons turns out to be far darker than Erandur could have imagined...

I… barely know where to start. Has it only been a single turn of Nirn since I made my last entry? It feels to have been an eternity… and the ache in my joints seems to confirm my suspicions. I haven’t fought like that since… well, since the run in with those bandits near the border, I suppose. Even Lee, indefatigable Lee, seemed worn out when she and Meeko stumbled off toward their room here in Thoring’s inn. It’s been a tough 24 hours but…a lot questions have been answered and, though I can practically feel the grief of the families of the lost, knowing the truth will at least allow for healing to start. …Rather wish I could say the same of this nasty bruise on my shoulder. Lee managed to patch it up half decent, but it still smarts. Perhaps I should indulge in some mugwort tea… Well, after I make my entry, anyways.

So where to begin? I suppose the morning. Lee was already awake and stirring away at something in her cooking pot when I awoke. Truly, I am amazed and thankful that I was able to sleep at all, let alone so soundly, and told Lee so when she asked. She grinned at that. “Hope the rest of the town’ll say the same. Plannin’ t’ go check on them after I have a bite to eat. You game?” That did seem a good idea, I concurred. “Alright then. …so, assumin’ all’s well with that, you know anything else that needs doin’ 'round here?”

“Work, you mean? Mmn, well, the Jarl has been known to issue bounties from time to time…”

She made a face at this. “’E does, but it’s killin’ giants. …I will if I hav’ta, but I really don’t much care for it. Seems to me if someone gets their face smashed by a giant, they were askin’ for it, y’know?” I admit, I didn’t. I’ve treated many a wound left by giants and their mammoths. ….typically of the emotional variety for those left behind after their loved one has been pulverized….\ But, for the moment, I just shrugged.

“Mm, well, there was a fellow in town... Silas? I haven’t paid it much mind but I know he was looking for an adventurer to undertake some mission for him…heard him talking to Thoring about it… Though given Silas’s…. predilections…”

She was shaking her head again. “Oh, he’s wantin’ an adventurer alright. Asked me to go find the pieces of Dagon’s broken old dagger.”

“…he…what?”

She grinned. “Yeah, he’s trying to get the shards of ol’ Kingslayer. Add it to his collection, he says. …It’s not so much what he’s doin’, really – you gotta preserve the past to learn from it an’ all, but… Like you say, given his obvious predilections…” 

I nodded slowly. It’s quite disturbing, after all, to go from banishing one relic of an evil Daedra to Oblivion, only to learn one of the people you were trying to help is working to gather together the scattered remnants of another. At least Lee seemed to agree on that account.

“Mm…. there… is something else that might be worth looking into… a string of disappearances…” That seemed to catch her interest, as she cocked her head to the side, inquisitive. “My understanding is that there have been a couple young women in town who vanished into thin air over the course of the past couple months… a couple of milk maids, a traveling peddler woman, and one of Brina Merilis’ serving girls. Being a port town with many a strapping young soldier or sailor coming through, and given the more…immediate threat of the nightmares, well, I admit that I don’t think most folks have been too concerned. Still, I’ve overheard some of the family members of the missing girls drowning their sorrows at the inn, insisting the girls would have never run off without at least a note of farewell.”

“Yeah, I’d say… kidnapped mebbe by one of those strapping soldier-sailor boys…” she sneered as she spoke, lips twisted in an expression of distaste. “Or even your not so strapping slaver boys…”

I shuddered at that. “Gods, I should hope not…” She did have a point, though. Dawnstar and its waters were plagued by pirates, and while slavery was technically illegal throughout the empire… Still. “I don’t think it very likely, to be honest. Dawnstar and its immediate environs are under heavy patrol right now – the Jarl seems convinced an attack is imminent – and he’s given strict orders to search every ship coming in and out of harbor from top to bottom. Beyond that, there’s not really any other place in the area I know of that a ship of size sufficient to carry such…cargo could dock…and to try and go overland, well…”

“Not impossible but not likely, got it… So are there any clues? Like, did the girls have anything in common? …'cept being girls? ….and missing?”

I considered her question for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know but… well, we might ask around town… Abalone at the inn, in particular. One of the missing girls worked for her, after all.”

Lee nodded as she gave the mix in her pot a final stir before pouring out two bowls of the stuff. Porridge, I recognized as she handed me one. “Got some nuts and a spot o' honey too if you want to add a bit of flavor,” she commented as she sprinkled salt over hers. I declined her generous offer, and then remembering my pledge to these pages from last night, expressed my gratitude for that as well. She just waved me off. “’snot a big deal. Got all these ingredients, be a crime to horde them all to m’self. I mean, it’s bad enough I didn’t hardly argue with you when you said y’didn’t mind me takin’ all those old alchemy bits and bobs…” She flashed a puckish smile as she pulled another package from her backpack. The dog, who hitherto had been lazing in the glow of the flames nearby, jumped to his feet and padded over, snuffling in excitement as she unwrapped a large chunk of ….well, something. It seemed to take all his willpower and training not to wrench whatever it was out of her hands and wait for her to offer it officially, his entire massive body quivering in excitement. Adorable, really.

The rest of the morning passed peacefully, with moments of pure joy – indeed, seeing the bright, well-rested eyes of the cautiously optimistic townspeople warmed my heart in a way I had not felt in… years, really. I spent a good hour answering their questions, as best I could without giving too much away. I eventually had to concede that there had been a cult of daedra worshippers behind the troubles, but that they had been dealt with. Much praise of the eight followed, and I was encouraged to lead those who had gathered – most of the townsfolk it seemed – in prayer. It was nearly midday when I realized I had not seen Lee for some time. I found her, eventually, down at Rustleif’s forge. She was chatting cheerily with a blessedly bright-eyed Seren as she hammered at something on a workbench, but waved as I approached. I hadn’t a chance to speak to her, though, before the smiths were echoing their earlier round of thanks and praise. I tried to deflect some of it to Lee, but she kept on working. Honestly, I got the distinct impression that she wasn’t comfortable with demonstrations of appreciation, an impression that deepened when she handed me the gloves she had been working on all morning and I, of course, thanked her for them whole heartedly. “Not a big deal,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck in apparent discomfort. “Hard to hold that mace o’yours if yer missin’ half yer hands to frost.” 

Before I could comment, she leaned towards me in a manner almost conspiratorial, and in a low voice said, “so, I spoke to Abalone like y’said, and to that Brina Merilis, the one whose girl went missin’, right? Well, they don’t have a lot of information, but it does sound like one thing the girls all have in common is that they were given t' taking walks along the shore and sometimes up to an old lighthouse east of town a piece…”

“Frost Flow?” I inquired.

“Mm, somethin’ like that. Anyway, no one ever found much in the way of tracks – too much snow and wind, I’m guessin’ – but the few that did exist seemed to lead out towards the coastline near …what did she call it…Ying-Vald?”

“The Yngvild ruins?” I considered this. I knew of that rocky outcropping and the massive stone pillars adorning its low peak, but I admit, I had never actually set foot there. No one I knew had. Nord ruins are notorious for their traps, after all, and have a bad tendency to be filled with the undead… The thought of them, all withered limbs and decaying voices...those soulless, unthinking eyes… It’s both too alien and…well, given my past tutelage in Vaermina’s priesthood, a bit too familiar as well. 

But perhaps some evil-intentioned pirates or slavers with stronger stomachs had found entry into a secret burial pit within the island and were using it for their nefarious ends. It was worth looking into at the least, and I told Lee as much. She, of course, was already prepped and ready to go….and had even taken the trouble of asking around for a horse I could borrow for the day, eventually procuring a fine dappled stallion named Vaenn. I scarcely had a chance to thank her yet again before she had mounted her own steed, the beautiful silver mare she called Mzul, and was already on the way out of town. “Daylight’s burnin’!” she called out as we hurried along.

We had scarcely reached the shore when something caught my companion’s eye. “Nightshade…” I heard her murmur as she bade Mzul to slow, and then to stop. “…Oh, no wonder…” I followed her gaze past the ominous purple bushes, to a sight that made my blood run cold.

“Dark Brotherhood…” I said in a near whisper. “One of those…well-known secrets, I’m afraid…”

“Scuttleheaded s’wits…” Lee muttered, her voice conveying disgust rather than the horror I personally felt. “They been here a while, then, I take it?”

“Yes… I believe so… I’ve heard rumors of their presence here for as long as I can remember…”

“And the jarl doesn’t do anything ‘bout it? Che. Typical. Pro’lly uses those numbskull n’wah Morag Tong wannabes on his own ‘enemies’...” 

“Er… perhaps… But… anyway…. …you don’t think they’d be involved in this?”

She shook her head. “Well, I can’t say I know a lot about’m, but from what I’ve heard, they wouldn’t lift a finger if they ain’t getting’ paid…and I doubt anyone’s payin’m t’ take out a bunch of milk maids and servin’ girls.”

It seemed a logical enough conclusion for the moment, and so we continued on a pace, not seeing anything too out of the ordinary aside from a particularly tubby horker, until we came to a large, fur-covered tent with a long-dead campfire in front of it. We dismounted by the decaying logs, calling out a greeting to anyone who might be inside, but there was no reply. Moving aside the fur serving as a makeshift door, we entered, Lee conjuring up a glowing orb of “candlelight” to illuminate the gloom within. Two furs, two pairs of old boots, some boiled pastries that had clearly been there a while, scattered red flowers and…an amulet of Mara. A lovers’ rendezvous, then. I picked up the amulet and studied it. Lee, meanwhile, had taken interest in the boots.

“One set here, pro'lly a woman. Miner, maybe… That or a bloke with really small feet. The others…” She picked up the other pair, which seemed to be made of a fine but durable cloth. “Looks like somethin’ a mage’d wear…. Been any miners or mages in town missin’ their shoes recent?”

“I…can’t think of any…” I replied. Something about this whole thing was…wrong. There was a feeling to the place, a foreboding heaviness settling onto my soul like a shroud. “This place harbors ill omens…” I murmured.

Lee had her mask on again so I could not see her expression, but she seemed to nod. “Aye well, let’s keep looking. Thought I saw a flicker of light ‘cross the way…”

Stepping out of the heavy air in the tent into the dimming light of day was almost a relief despite the arctic chill. Lee didn’t seem to agree, muttering something obviously impolite about the temperature in what I assumed was a Dunmeri dialect that I, an n’wah in the literal (and often the figurative) sense of the word, couldn’t quite follow. Luckily, she didn’t seem to expect a response, instead remounting and gesturing to a dim glow dancing across the water in the distance.

The light turned out to be the large campfire of an unsavory looking Argonian who was squatting there amidst the treasures he had presumably pulled off the shipwreck nearby. He eyed us warily as we approached but did not attack, giving Lee a chance to dismount and wave cheerily. “Heya, nice haul, f’lah!” She looked about at the glittering statues and gems. “That all from that one ship?”

The Argonian hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “This ocean is full of many treasures, if one can swim…”

“Niiice…” She nodded in an appreciative manner. “Well, we don’t mean t’trouble yeh, but me friend and I are lookin’ for some missin’ folks, women mostly it seems…”

Perhaps it was the cold, but the lizard seemed to quiver at her words. “Do not look at poor Deekus. My camp was here long before those…things started appearing…” He gestured up the hill behind us. “There’s a cave there, leads into an old crypt. I explored there once, a long time back, but…” He shuddered, scales flashing in the flickering firelight. “The dead walk, and they don’t much care for intruders. Barely escaped with my life…”

“Huh. Well, that’s t’be expected with an old Nord crypt I suppose, but how about any livin’ women?”

Deekus nodded gravely. “I haven’t seen any living women here, but… I’ve heard screams. I thought it was the wind, howling through the ice, or some trick of sound from the glaciers as they crack, but… then, sometimes, I’ve seen them – the dead things from inside the crypt, walking around up there. And one night, I thought… Well… I thought I saw a ghostly woman and some sort of shadow man, gliding down the path away from that cave along the old pathway with the standing stones…”

“Oh ho? Shadow folk, eh?” I swear, her voice almost sounded excited at the prospect. “Hmm… interestin’…. Anything else new or unusual ‘round here?”

The Argonian hesitantly shook his head, his face conveying a sense of incredulity at Lee’s calm acceptance of his words. “The dead walking is new enough, no?”

“Wellll… Not really. Dead walk around all the time, ‘specially these old Nord dead. Now shadow people, on the other hand… if it’s what I’m thinkin’ it is, might be the dead ain’t just walkin’ for the usual reasons. ‘Specially if you hadn’t seen them ‘round here til recent…” 

“Necromancy…?” I realized. As if Dawnstar didn’t have enough trouble…

“Sounds like it t’me. But, not a problem! I…er… we’ll set things right if they are indeed wrong.” She patted at the sword on her hip. She hadn’t used it thus far that I had seen, preferring to rely on her bow and magic. I supposed, though, from her action now that it must be enchanted against the walking dead. 

…It was not just your normal enchantment, however, as it turned out.

Leaving an incredulous Deekus, we followed the path he had pointed out, indeed finding a cavern that lead into an old, Nord crypt. Almost immediately, we were beset by draugr. I bit down my rising stomach and did what I could to assist, hurling balls of flame at the horrid things, trying not to singe the fur of the dog who had gone from fluffy to fearsome at the first sign of trouble. Lee crouched nearby, firing shot after shot from her conjured bow, and grabbing the tangible dwemer artifact when she could no longer maintain the spell. It took a lot of arrows, bites, and fire to get these corpses to rest in peace proper, the magics animating their limbs and presumable inability to feel pain keeping them in the fight far longer than any living being. 

Thus it was that we soon found ourselves beset on all sides by the monsters, and I had to switch from flame to weapon just to keep their blades off of me as best I could. Behind me, I heard a rasp of metal on leather as Lee tossed aside the cumbersome bow for that sword… and suddenly, the cold air and dim gloom of the cave was overtaken by a wave of light and…a sort of heat that did not warm yet which could still be felt in one's soul. Holy light. Surprised, I confess I did something very stupid – I turned to look at what was going on behind, which gave the corpse in front of me time to recover from the wave of power that had momentarily stunned us both, and swing.

I must say, I have suffered numerous nasty injuries over the decades - you meet many a beast and bandit on the roads when you wander alone - but having a massive, ancient war axe suddenly buried in my shoulder was beyond anything… Well, needless to say, I don’t really remember much for a bit there. I assume Lee must have battled on. There were more waves of light, growling from the dog, raspy curses of power in ancient decayed tongues, and I swear… I thought I heard Lee shouting right back at them. But to be honest, I was almost senseless of anything but the pain.

It was probably a few minutes later, though it felt a century, that a truly warm light began to flow through me, soothing and gentle. I gradually became aware of the source – Lee, of course – channeling a healing spell. She watched me, her mask impassive but her posture conveying concern, as I started to regain my senses. And…. Mara forgive me, but just as I was ready to thank her for pulling me back, I saw it… her sword. A gleaming, golden thing resting on the frozen ground beside her, light glittering in a decorative structure just under the hilt… a symbol I recognized as that of a Daedric prince…

I suppose I should not have been surprised. The people of Morrowind don’t view the Daedra the same as those of Skyrim, and that Lee should be a devotee of one really ought to have gone without saying. Still, the sight of that symbol, after everything I had been through, that we had been through in Nightcaller Temple… It was jarring, to say the least. “I hope you’re not expecting a thank you,” I think I growled at her. Understandably, she was taken aback, ceasing her channeling and stepping back. The pain and cold returned immediately, but she had done enough to knit the bone and close the wound. It will probably be bruised for a few days at least but… I can live with that. Not so sure about the guilt I’m feeling now, though, about how I reacted. My words hurt, I could tell, even if I couldn’t see her expression. And I don’t blame her for her snippy response.

“Well, sorry, but figured y’didn’t want t’be losin yer arm…” She grabbed the sword then and stood, wiping off the gleaming blade with a scrap of cloth before resheathing it. “Wasn’t plannin’ t’ be the champion of a Prince, y’know. Stumbled across a shiny ball in an old crypt a buncha scuttlebrained bandits were usin' as a hideout. Damn thing suddenly starts talkin’ at me, commandin’ me t’go t’some place called Kilkreath and purge it of its new resident necromancer. Get there and damned if it ain’t an old temple to Meridia of all things… and she wanted me t’be her champion…” She shrugged. “I don’t take issue with necromancy in theory, if it’s…consensual I guess is how I’d put it. But I take a lotta issue with someone messin’ with corpses and spirits ‘gainst their will. So, I was happy t’lend a hand anyway.”

“Conensual…necromancy…?”

“Sure. Someone says ‘fore they die that they’re okay with someone else usin’ their corpse for study? Usually involves the experimenter payin’ some money to the family of the deceased. I’ve known some poor folk dyin’ of one disease or another, can’t afford treatment, can’t get a blessin’ to lit’rally save themselves… they don’t want their family t’end up paupers, so they go to the altars of Bal or somethin’ and promise their bodies in exchange for cash.” 

…I am hardly one to criticize such a practice given some of the…experiments in which I have participated… but something about trading one’s body for cash… It makes my skin crawl. It hardly seems “consensual” if the one party is desperate after all, and someone still has to die… …That and, as I said to her, “Isn’t…that illegal in Morrowind…?”

“Che, ain't no law in most places, and even when there is, well, nothin’s illegal if y’know the folks to bribe. Or better yet, don’t get caught in the first place. … speakin’ o’ getting’ caught, though, you wanna pros’le’tyze and criticize, do it later. Or... leave if y'want. No worries if y'do. I'd certainly not blame yeh. But...I want t'get to the bottom of this apparent necromancer nonsense. …nothin’ else, maybe there’s one of those weird word wall things in this crypt I can get somethin' from…”

“I’m….wait, what?”

“Word walls? Big black things, impart old Nord know-how into your brain? ….Don’t know what I mean? Eh, well, if there’s one I’ll point it out. See if you can hear it too.” 

…Confused doesn’t begin to describe how I felt just then. …or now really, come to think of it. I honestly don’t know what she meant by that. But, well, part of me was tempted to take her up on her suggestion, to leave this madness behind. Go back to Cyrodil, or maybe return to Shor’s stone to check on that young woman with the broken leg… But I knew I would never forgive myself for yet another display of cowardice, especially if something happened to her… I’d gotten her into this mess, after all. 

I stood, dusted the frost off, and picked up my mace, its edges black with the …blood…of the draugr. “Lead on,” I said simply.

And lead she did. Through twisting ice caverns illuminated by candles in horns drilled into the glacier itself, past empty sarcophagus and shriveled, mercifully lifeless corpses of long dead Nord warriors. It struck me then… “The candles… someone must be keeping them lit…”

“The draugr, maybe. Book I read once says that’s what they do. Why they exist. Keep up the place for their dead masters and…..”

She stopped dead, crouching low behind the icy stones. I followed her gaze down another passage, where a blue, spectral form floated by a weathered table. Her eyes were empty, mindless, but I recognized the features. “I know her… she was the one worked at Thoring’s inn…” And she was dead. A mere ghost. ...and apparently bound to the bidding of an unseen master as, noticing our presence, she ran at us, her disembodied voice echoing in those icy halls, slashing at us with a spectral dagger that cut at not just flesh and bone but soul as well. 

There is no reasoning with such spirits. Lee tried, bless her, she tried to talk to the ghost but it was clear that the spirit was beyond comprehension. Or, perhaps the spells binding her soul to this plane prevented it… Whatever the case, with a flash of light from her Daedric sword, Lee laid the soul to rest, the blue shape melting into a puddle at her feet. She collected a bit of the ectoplasm itself – woman has a knack for alchemical ingredients – then sighed. “Def’nately necromancy at the bottom of this…” she muttered, summoning her bow and continuing on.

And so I followed her through more twists and turns, fighting our way through more decayed draugr and figments of souls with familiar faces. There was no sign of the cause of this desecration, however…not until we reached a set of iron doors which opened to a hall leading to a large, ice-encrusted chamber. There, across the way, we could see a golden mer set upon an old Nord throne, one of his spectral servants by his side. His expression was smug, content. Proud. And I knew that face, that smug expression. 

“Arondil…” I hissed to Lee, who was already notching an arrow. She paused, looking at me quizzically. “Nasty piece of work, got kicked out of Dawnstar a few months back for harassing women and being a general nuisance… that and… I don’t know the details, but I gather his basement was full of half-decayed animal carcasses. Said he was using them for alchemical experiments…”

“Che. _Alchemical_ experiments my ass…” At this, she let the arrow fly. The smug expression turned to one of shock as the point pierced his left eye, brain, bone, and finally the stone behind him. The specter beside him let out a mad wail and tried to charge us, but a second arrow dissipated her form and, I pray, freed her spirit. 

Wordlessly, we proceeded into the chamber proper, Lee pausing to gather a bit more spectral ectoplasm before she paused, listening I supposed. “There’s one more…” she whispered, creeping to another black door. It creaked open, the sound alerting the final trapped soul within. It was Merilis’ serving girl, slowly rising from the double bed on which she lay, a bed surrounded by red flowers like we had seen in that tent on the coast…

Her spectral form dissipated the instant the arrow came into contact, melting into the furs and straw beneath. Lee released the conjured spell, the bow vanishing, and conjured her candlelight spell instead. “That’s done then…”

“Indeed…” My attention was drawn to a stack of red books on a table nearby. Journals, not unlike this one, but the contents… I read them aloud to Lee as she rummaged about in a chest, pulling out a series of necklaces and other valuables, presumably taken from the dead women. The dead women that Arondil had been… using…. 

I knew that mer was trouble, but…the depravity in those pages… I thought I’d seen or heard…or experienced it all as a priest of Vaermina, but this was a desecration that not even the most perverse of my ‘brothers’ would have condoned. I admit, I agreed with Lee’s immediate response, to “burn them,” though after discussion we agreed it would be better to take the books with us for now, give them to the authorities in Dawnstar as proof of what we had found here. Thoroughly disgusted, we returned to the main chamber, the slackjawed corpse of the necromancer starting to slump off his increasingly bloody throne as the spectral arrow dissipated. Lee stared at him for a moment, before making a chuffing noise. “Let’s finish lookin’ ‘round. Don’t see any other life signs in here, but……” 

I followed her down another hall, past a series of stone walls with windows looking into another chamber… With corpses. The bodies of the desecrated women. I whispered a prayer to Lady Mara and to Arkay while Lee looked for and finally found a lever that opened the way into that tomb. There were three of them there, face down in the frozen dirt. Meeko snuffled at the one closest, then made a whimpering sound as he looked up at his mistresses. She reached out a hand and he came over so she could gently rub his head.

“Do we… do we want t’cremate the remains here an’ now, or you want t’head back t’town, let the family’s take care of it?” she said softly.

I considered this a moment. “Best to let the families decide, I think. They will probably want to take care of their bodies the traditional way…”

“What’s that?”

“Here in Dawnstar? There’s a tradition of placing the dead in boats, setting them alight, and letting them sail out to sea one last time… But not everyone follows that. And the Redguard or Breton women’s families might prefer the bodies be sent back to their homelands…”

Lee nodded. “Right then. Leave’m for now. Ain’t nothin’ here gonna disturb them now anyways…” She turned and headed for another set of doors, leading to a stairway and another series of passages that took us back to the tomb proper. Another few minutes, we were out in the cold, but also out of that horrible crypt. It was dark now, though not perhaps as late as it felt. Sun’s Dusk is a month well named with its long, early nights… 

Lee stretched and began walking up the hill to where the towering statues and arches formed a sort of promontory overlooking the narrow channel of water separating this cursed island from the mainland. I followed behind, watching as she strode out to the end of the stones. For a while we stood there, relishing the fresh air despite its chill, letting the darkness of the night envelop us with its promise of a new day at its end…. And that’s when it struck me. Darkness, where there should have been at least one light in the distance, giving guidance and hope to the lost.

“Frost Flow” I said abruptly, startling Lee from an apparent reverie. 

“Pardon?”

“The lighthouse, Frost Flow Lighthouse…” I pointed into the darkness. “It’s gone dark…”  
“…Well, that’s not a good sign… ‘specially given what was goin’ on here an' with the ladies goin’ t’visit them and all…” She gave a short whistle, Mzul cresting the hill a moment later. “Let’s go check it out then, ey?”

By Mara, I was already weary. Ready to return to town, to find some warm furs to crawl into… but Lee was right. I did not know the new residents of the lighthouse well, but the man of the house, a stalwart fellow called Hadb, had come to town for supplies a few times since I had been back and had stopped by the inn for a drink. He had not struck me as the sort who would shirk his duties as keeper of the flame. If the light was out, well…

…I am sick at heart. I need to write through my thoughts, my…memories of that… experience… but right now, I need to stop. To rest a bit. I am so utterly exhausted now that I think I might sleep, even with all of the horrors I have witnessed today. Arondil’s lair was bad enough, but the horrors beneath what should have been a beacon of hope… 

I will return to them later. …unwillingly in my nightmares if nothing else.


	3. Sun’s Dusk, 11 Turdas, cont.: There is light in even the darkest places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erandur and Lee confront a whole new nightmare when they investigate the darkened Frost Flow Lighthouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mod note:  
> Complete Alchemy and Cooking Overhaul - among the many neat tweaks this mod offers is a new alchemy perk tree with one possible choice being "Snakeblood". This allows you to develop a resistance to poison by ingesting a variety of alchemical ingredients, and would definitely be something Lee would have tried if it actually had merit as a scientific theory...  
> ...Please note that IRL, this practice known as Mithridatism works only slightly in certain specific cases, and that you should definitely not going around chewing on random old hearts, toes, ash, and devouring entire fish or bird bits just to develop your understanding of chemical ingredients and/or improve your immune system. ....seriously, wtf Bethesda?   
> My running theory is you can test ingredients out in the ES world by injecting or ingesting bits of them and that noone is stupid or disgusting enough to actually eat an entire bit of putrid flesh or a human heart. Well, 'cept for those worshiping Namira maybe but...
> 
> Enhanced Familiars - Awesome mod, lets you summon critters beyond your basic wolf, starting with crabs and goats and ranging up to bears and chaurus. Lee is currently at the sabrecat/spider level ability.

Today has been a day of sorrow for Dawnstar, and of much mental anguish for Lee and myself...well, maybe just me... though it has been a blessing for our bodies to rest and recover from the day previous. She woke me early this morning, and together we went to the house of Brina Merilis with Arondil’s journals. She had surmised that Brina would handle the news better than the Jarl, who she astutely judged to be “an impulsive, hardheaded old scuttlebrain” that would probably vent his outrage on anyone with magical or medical talents. And besides, one of the dead women had come from Merlis’ household anyways. 

The old imperial took the news gravely, her features growing somehow more serious than usual. After confirming that we had already “executed” the wretched elf, she quickly took charge of the situation, rounding up the families and parties affected. Lee has led them out to Yngvild to recover the bodies, stating I should stay here to help with the funeral preparations and to comfort the grieving. Since I am no boatsmith or undertaker, though, and since most of those affected went with Lee to the site of the crime, I am left here with nothing but my thoughts, and my journal. ….oh, and the dog, Meeko, who seems to sense the trouble in my soul and has, thus, taken to laying up against me as I sit on this bed, writing. A warm cloud of snoring fur…

Lee told him to stay here, whispering she didn’t want to risk him further desecrating the bodies by stealing a bone or something, though given how well behaved he has been so far, I suspect her true motive was to have him keep me company. She is hardened, having seen Gods know how many atrocities and horrors, but she has a good sense of people and a caring heart… and a desire to right wrongs when she can, even if all she can do is try and prevent them from happening again. Such was the tragic scenario we faced in Frost Flow lighthouse, a scene of carnage and sorrow wholly different from that and the depravity of Yngvild. 

As we grew closer to the stone tower, we could see that the light, though dim, was not out entirely. The hope that might have inspired, though, was completely crushed by the mass just outside the door of the edifice. Mzul and Vaenn understandably shied away from what Lee’s light revealed to be a dead horse. By the look of it, the denizens of the lighthouse had never released the poor creature from its harness, and it had succumbed to the biting cold of the Pale, perhaps the blizzard of the previous night. 

We dismounted and led our somewhat spooked horses to the side of the tower where a couple of small sheds could act as something of a break against the winds that howled across the glacial landscape. She did not tie them in place, though, not wanting to risk their lives to the same fate… just in case…

We then approached the door of the lighthouse. Lee knocked, but predictably, there was no answer. Pushing on it gingerly, we found it unlocked and so entered… to a scene of violence and woe. “N'chow…” Lee cursed under her breath, making her way towards the nude, blood-soaked woman in the center of the tragic tableau, eyes open wide in an expression of pain and fear as they gazed fixedly at the cruel chitin axe embedded in her stomach. Behind her, almost like some sick mirror image, was another corpse with an axe in its midsection, but this a human’s axe buried deep between the armored plating of a chaurus. 

“Damn those cavedwellin’ freaks…” I looked from the gruesome scene at my companion, who had grasped a small journal from a chair near the dead woman. 

“The chaurus…?”

“No, those… creepy cavedwellin’… goblin things… ones that made that.” She gestured at the chitin axe. “Ran into their lot o'er in those ruins just north of here. Alftand I guess they call it. Was an expedition there it seemed, got trapped in the ruins by a storm. Ones that didn’t die in the blizzard, get chopped up by a skooma addict cat, or run afoul of the automatons…well, those goblin things got a hold of them and… Wasn’t pretty… That’s one of their weapons though.”

Something clicked in my memory. I’d heard stories about the monsters that lived underground, in caves and old ruins. Twisted ghosts who snatched up livestock and sometimes, it was said, people as well. “Falmer?”

She cocked her head to a side. “Fal-mer? Like the snow elves?”

“I… well, I think it’s just short for ‘fallen mer’, but…” Snow elves. A race even more legendary than the dwemer. Again, I had heard tales of them, whispers of strange, haunting ruins in the most remote and snowy parts of the land, but I admit, I had never conflated the stories of that lost people with the boogie-men of the underground…

I didn’t have time to dwell on those thoughts, however, as a spine tingling chattering sound emanated from beneath our feet. “There’s more of them…” I cautiously unhooked my mace, and called a destructive flame spell to the ready. Lee, though, didn’t seem overly alarmed. “They’re behind the door there, down stairs. Hafta chew through that big door before they’ll be buggin’ us. Hah. Buggin’.”

“And how in Mara’s name do you know that?!” The emotions I felt at the scene of the senseless death in front of me and, I confess, my own fear made my words sharp. Lee didn’t seem to care, though as she chuckled at me.

“My goggles. Wot, you didn’t think I wore them just for show, didja?” She pulled off her mask so I could see the eye piece proper. “They’ve got an enchantment embedded. Casts a constant detect life spell usin’ the oil kept here,” she tapped at two small boxes just behind the eye pieces, “as a source of energy. …’course, y’gotta keep them filled with oil or they ain’t nothin’ but glorified eye protectors… and I’m bloody low on oil. So, been usin’ them just to get a lay of land now and then. And…” she replaced her mask. “Looks like the lay of it has a couple more of these overgrown earwigs downstairs. Probably some of the creepy falmer things too.” 

That….did explain some things. Til then, I thought her uncanny ability to anticipate enemies, even beyond doors, was due to extremely keen and well honed senses. 

“Anyway, sounds like the guy writin’ this ‘ere journal came home from town, found his wife, Ramadi here like …this…and his kids are missin’. So, after writing all this down…for…some reason…. Seriously, I don’t get why he took the time to do that if his own flesh and blood are down there but…”

I didn’t say anything, but I understood. Journaling helps overcome…well…process…things… And the poor man, understandably in shock and presumably alone, turned to that which could help him organize and prepare. But…given that Hadb was nowhere to be seen…

“Then we need to go, see if we can lend assistance…” I stated. Mara forgive me, my heart did not feel those words. Even now, I can feel it tremble at this memory. But, I couldn’t just abandon this hapless family to their grisly fate. I would not run.

And Lee, well, that woman seems to be the definition of fearless. “Well, yeah…” she said, her tone conveying the fact that to her I was merely stating the obvious. She pocketed the journal then turned to the fireplace. Kicking aside the corpse of the chaurus, she fumbled about with an old Nordic urn on the mantle. I was about to ask why when she finally found what she sought – a key. “Journal said it’d be here. Save me a few lockpicks on the basement door prol’ly.” Ah. Of course.

The key did indeed save her some lockpicks, the door to the cellar swinging wide with a creak and eliciting more rattles and clicks in the darkness. I bit back my fear as best I could and followed her and the white cloud of dog. “Watch for traps” she hissed over her shoulder. And, grabbing a broom that lay nearby, she poked at something just out of my line of sight. A sharp “clang” followed as a large trap sprang shut around the wood, which splintered in the sharp vice grip. 

“Indeed…” I murmured, feeling somewhat nauseous. 

“They thought they were havin’ skeever problems, wot with the rattlin’ in their cellar. Turned out it was these chaurus critters instead.” She continued down the stairs, setting off a couple more traps with her broom before stopping and summoning her bow. “Two of’m. I can’t get a bead on the one – behind that pillar, there. So, if he charges us once I start shootin’ down his buddy here…”

“I’m on it.” Meeko echoed my declaration with a quiet “buff”, lowering himself, and his ears, ready to pounce. “Just watch out for their poison. Nasty stuff…”

“Ugh. Tell me about it…” The arrow flew. The skewered bug let out a screech of pain and, as she had expected, its fellow charged around the corner, chattering angrily. But we were prepared and the bugs were shortly dispatched. Turning to me after checking her dog for wounds, she explained, “Stumbled across one in the marsh near Morthal. Didn’t see it ‘fore it saw me, and ugh... I regretted that! Might have ended up chaurus chow if it weren’t for Meeko ‘ere!” She patted her canine friend, who knocked himself against her legs affectionately. 

“Good dog…”

“That 'e is…” Then her tone turned serious again as she gestured towards a crude tunnel carved into the ice that lead down into an abyss of ice. I followed her, again silent. 

As the tunnel leveled out into a cavernous room, we were greeted by another gruesome tableau: a young Redguard man strung up to some sort of profane altar, drained of blood by the deep gashes along his limbs. “Must be the son, Mani I think the journal said…” she whispered softly. She then tapped at the side of her mask, or perhaps more accurately the goggles beneath. Wordlessly, she pointed off to the right, and then at a sort of chitinous hut straight ahead. Enemies, I assumed. And indeed, a moment later we were again in combat. A chaurus to the side and… a living nightmare that shambled out of its abode on withered, gangly legs.

You know, I had always figured the stories of falmer were overblown, enhanced for the listener’s perverse pleasure at the grotesque. But having now seen some of the twisted creatures with my own eyes… The stories are mild in comparison. Gaunt like the draugr, hunched like goblins, and with eyeless, noseless faces reminiscent of some sort of bloodsucking vampire… Their raspy shrieks and their cruel chaurus chitin weapons and armor further enhance the sheer revulsion one feels when looking at them. Luckily, they do seem to feel pain and die quicker and easier than draugr or even their insectoid…pets… And so, we made relatively short work of them as the three of us wound our way through twisting halls of ice.

After a few turns, we found ourselves in another sizeable chamber, this one with a makeshift holding pen with chaurus-leg gates…and the body of a young woman inside. Sudi, the journal indicated. We paused a moment, myself praying for the dead girl’s soul, Lee reading over a few bloodsoaked notes nearby, and Meeko keeping guard, clearly on high alert for danger. 

“Sounds like they got the dad too..” Lee said when I looked up at her. “Got some o' that venom in his face and was pretty much dead when the falmer shoved them in here together. They dragged him off a bit later then, but he left his knife behind though so…” 

I nodded, knowingly, as I had already surmised the rest by the deep gashes along the poor girl’s wrists. “If we had only arrived a bit sooner…”

“Aye…” Her voice was sad and the dog perked at it, padding over to bump his nose on her leg. She scratched his ears before taking a deep breath. “Well, ‘least we can do then is give them as proper a send off we can under the circumstances, and make sure these nasty wretches don’t do the same t’anyone else. 

And so, with another whispered prayer from me, Lee called on her own destructive magic to reduce the body to ash. She then turned, determined, and called up her bow again. Meeko “buffed” and together they moved forward, me trailing behind and trying not to jump at shadows. 

More chaurus, more falmer, and even some enourmous, slavering spiders to boot. It was as if I were back in Quagmire, trying to overcome my deepest held fears, only these nightmares were very, very real…and only the beginning.

The further we wound down into that frozen hell, the more we began seeing sacs of luminous blue eggs. Lee quickly began gathering them into one of her satchels, stating that they could be a useful backup to her goggles when mixed with the proper catalyst. I suppose I should have already known from her excitement over those old daedra hearts in Nightcaller Temple that she was an alchemist herself, and wasn’t planning to just sell the items for profit… She’s not half bad, either, I found out, after taking a face full of chaurus venom myself. Woman already had a potion mixed up and ready to go, and was gracious enough to pat me on the shoulder as my body…purged…the toxins. “Like I said, been there myself. Figured I’d better learn me an antidote right quick. Always good t’be prepared,” she said once I’d recovered a bit. She then bade me take a breath while she went about the cold, slimy, water-filled chamber collecting more of those disgusting, squishy eggs. So many eggs… 

“We need… we need to make sure we get them all…” I wheezed, realizing the peril that the entire Pale could find itself if all of the “wards” of this nursery from hell were to grow up and venture out into the world. 

“No kiddin. An’ burn what we can’t carry. …hell… maybe ought to burn it all anyways. …though I ’spose that might bring the walls in on us… Mn. Well, hey, y' mind carryin’ some o' these?” She sloshed over and held out a dripping bag of the horrid things.

I did mind. Quite a bit actually. But of course I just nodded. “Running out of room, eh?” I quipped wearily. I think she smiled – who knows with that damned mask – but she patted me lightly on the shoulder before returning to her task. 

A few minutes later, she stood and surveyed the room. “A’ight, think that’s done it…” She summoned her bow again, and we pressed onward, only to find ourselves in another chamber bursting with eggs. “……well damn…” She muttered. “Veritable gold mine we got here…”

“Ugh. I’d prefer actual gold. That, at least, doesn’t bite or spit poison at you…”

“True ‘nough, though gold seems t’poison folks in its own way. Can come back t’bite yeh too…”

“Fair point…” I sighed. “Let’s see about ensuring no one gets bit by these gold bugs then…”

I think she chuckled as she started on her task. A few moments later, our work was paused by a cracking sound, like that of an egg shell, and a noxious odor filled the cavern. “Oh bloody hell, now wot?!” I heard Lee growl as suddenly, across from her, an odd and slimy “stone” formation erupted in a gout of putrid, viscous fluid and loud, buzzing wings. Lee let out a loud string of curses I am glad I did not fully understand and reached for her tangible bow, but the horrid creature was quick…and apparently equipped with a large stinger. She let out a sharp, short screech of pain as it punctured her thigh…then seemed to collapse. I didn’t take the time to process it, though, instead hurling flames at the disgusting flying monstrosity, barely avoiding the dog who leapt into a frenzy of fangs at seeing his mistress hurt. 

Luckily, this aerial version of the chaurus died as quickly as its siblings, and in a moment I was by Lee’s side. The wound itself was imperceptible - only a thin trickle of blood at the site of the wound - but I gathered from her pained posture and labored breathing that the notorious venom was as much a part of this stage of its lifecycle as the earth-bound form. Maybe stronger. 

“Stay with me, Lee,” I whispered. “Your antidote, where do you keep it.”

She wheezed harder and shook her head. “Don’t have no more…on me….” So she’d used her only dose on me? And here I was, unable to do anything meaningful to help. The guilt and impotent rage was building when she shook her head again, this time as if to clear it. “ ‘tsno worry anyway… Just need a moment…” 

“Of course…”

“I mean…this is why I… been poisonin’ m’self…. Fer years now…”

I paused. ….She….what?

I think she recognized my shock. “Use poison on yourself… til y’develop a sort of…tolerance I guess. Been doin’ it…since I’s a whelp. This is… well, a new poison f’me tho. So…hits me a bit harder than I’d like.”

I… What does one say to that, anyway? I said nothing, just crouched by her as she recovered. The idea sounded outlandish - the sort of thing you hear about in poems and songs about famous rogues or court intrigues - but she did recover far quicker than I think I would have without her anti-venom, so maybe there's some merit to it? 

Back on her feet at last, we set about removing all of the eggs we could carry, finally having no choice but to resort to flames to rid the world of the rest. Though they are small and of negligible weight on their own, they do add up, and we didn’t exactly have any poor pack animal to take advantage of unless you count Meeko. ...which despite his size, seems unwise and an insult to his dignity.

There was one final chamber of horrors in that dreadful place, and home to the greatest horror of them all… Not only was it full of chattering ground-bound chaurus and more of those noxious “eggs” with their inhabitants bursting out of them like some scene from the depths of Quagmire; it was also the home of what I can only describe as the chaurus “queen”, a monstrous beast the size of a small mammoth, with sharp, twitching mandibles like twin daedric crescents at her slavering mouth. 

Having roused the horror’s anger by dispatching her guards/children, the three of us cowered behind a slime-encrusted stone pillar as the venom spat out by the enraged insect splattered around us, hissing as it bubbled in the sludge-like water. “Any ideas?” I asked Lee, feeling rather hopeless and completely out of them myself. I had been exhausted when we arrived in this foul pit, and the gauntlet of chitinous and chitin-clad creatures had not helped. I could feel my own abilities and power waning, despite the adrenaline coursing through me thick as blood.

Lee was silent a moment, ducking another volley of venom when she tried to peer around the corner. “Aye, I’ve got one. Gonna call up a friend here. When the Queen’s attention is distracted, you pummel her with everything you got. She looks at you, get back behind here. She’s too big to get at us back ‘ere, but that venom of hers is bad news…”

“An old friend…?” Summon a daedra? That must be what she meant. But… it was daedra or death, I supposed. “Sure. Fine. Do it.” I was too tired…too…well, scared honestly, to even begin to argue. She just nodded, and a moment later, there was a flash and a bang…and then… A sound that made my skin crawl. The sucking, clicking noise of a spider. 

“Now!” I heard Lee shout as she threw herself around the corner, bow blazing a brilliant purple in the dark cave. Meeko followed suit, erupting from our hiding spot with a growl, to join with a spectral spider, presumably the “friend” Lee has summoned, engaged in a venom-spitting contest with the Queen chaurus.

It had to be spiders, didn’t it. But, I suppose it's (marginally) more tolerable than a dremora or its nasty ilk, and the Queen’s attention was certainly being held by that disgusting vision... so I did as I had been bade – unleashed a blazing inferno with every thing I had left. At first, it seemed to have no effect – the chitin plating of that writhing black body was thick! – but the constant heat, coupled with the freezing air and repeated micro-punctures made by the arrows eventually began to take effect, and just as the vision of the spider melted back into Oblivion, the webbing of the spell undone by a vicious lurching bite of those massive mandibles… The queen…… exploded…

…..Once I finished throwing up what little was left in my stomach, I stumbled over to Lee who was nonchalantly digging through the remnants of the ruptured insect. I nearly threw up again as from within the pungent muck she pulled out bones. Human bone, bits of flesh still clinging to them where the beast’s stomach acid had failed to eat through entirely. Femurs, tibia, vertebrae… and finally an eyeless skull. 

“His journal indicated he wanted his ashes t’be placed up in the cauldron wot holds the lighthouse’s light,” she said softly, digging a scrap of ancient looking linen out from one of her bags, knocking a few glowing eggs loose as she did. After binding up the bones in a hobo satchel she slung to the tip of her dwemer bow, she stood and looked at me. I just nodded, too sick both physically and emotionally to do more. 

In silence, we burned away the mass of glowing eggs in what had been the queen’s chamber and a couple empty falmer huts, climbing up a natural ramp of ice until we dropped through, back in the chamber where we had started our descent. The bloodless body of Mani still hung grotesquely on the unholy altar of the fallen mer. Lee said nothing as she approached and, after a moment of thought? Prayer? She released his body to ash as she had Sudi’s. Reaching the keep of the lighthouse, she did the same for poor Ramadi as well. 

Then, still without word, we climbed the steps up, up to the top of the lighthouse, to where the fire still burned, though dimly. I handed Lee blocks of wood which she used to build up the flames to a more radiant and visible brightness that, I hoped, could be seen for miles around and warn those ships braving the frozen Sea of Ghosts of the dangers of the coast. The wind whipping through the tower was cold and harsh, filled with abrading salt that stung the eyes and burned the small cuts I had not noticed I’d gained in the night’s…adventures. In short, I was cold, sore, exhausted, and utterly miserable. Too much horror, too much tragedy, in too short a space of time. At that moment, staring out at the black sea while Lee fumbled around with the satchel of bones, I longed for even the safety and warmth of even the cold shrine-turned-crypt of Nightcaller Temple, or the noisy but lively clatter of that fort in Cyrodil…

I wanted to run away. 

To run for safety and comfortable isolation, far removed from the troubles and woes of this world. To forsake those to whom I had given my word… 

The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning, chilling the blood in my veins. And it was in that moment, I recognized the folly of these thoughts, of my intention to stay in that forsaken temple, praying away my life instead of my sins, my own myriad wrongs compounded by those I allowed to continue, unabated, outside the walls of my personal hell… and sanctuary. 

Lee had lowered the bones into the fire and hopped down off the ladder. Coming over to where I stood, she leaned back against the edge of the lighthouse. Some of the slime of the abyss clung to her clothes, which I brushed off. Hardened, it turned to dust at my touch. I managed a weary smile, which she acknowledged with a nod. “What a day…” she grumbled.

“An understatement, to say the least…” I responded, mimicking her posture. Then taking a deep breath, I added, “…by the way, thank you.”

I could tell she had raised her brow at me despite the mask. “…..for….?”

“Letting me come with you like this…”

She snorted in disbelief. “Wot, fer draggin’ y’through a bunch of freezin’ crypts full of creeps and creepy-crawlies?! Nearly getting’ y’killed a couple dozen times over, t’say nothin’ of the slime…Gods, I’m gonna need a week of soakin’ t’get rid of the stench of that stuff…”

“Well, not that specifically, perhaps…” I chuckled, “but… helping me realize that I can better atone for my past by serving others in the present, as opposed to locking myself away and wallowing in my own self-pity…”

She nodded quietly. “Ah, gotcha. ……you honestly sayin’, then, yer actually still willin’ t’put up with me and the madness that is my life?”

I gestured vaguely to the environs. “You mean this is ‘normal’ for you?”

“…yeah…pretty much… I was raised by a buncha treasure hunters, y’know… well, if you can call it bein’ raised. More like they let me hang ‘round their camp and had me squeeze through the cracks and holes in the old ruins t' find items an' open doors they couldn’t reach. So… yeah. Rummaging through crumbling buildin's, fightin' through nests of nasties, getting spider webs and Gods knows what routinely stuck in my hair…” I sensed she was grinning. “You sayin’ that ain’t normal?!” 

I smiled and shook my head. “No, not for the most of us, really. But…” I turned to look her in the eyes. Well….at the dark holes of the mask anyway. “The hidden places of this realm hide some of its darkest and most depraved secrets… I… I have little interest in treasure and glory, but bringing light to those secrets, and righting wrongs as we did today… well… It’s worth a few spider webs and close encounters with the creepy crawlies, I suppose.”

She seemed to consider this, the dark holes in her mask fixed on my face. Eventually, she shrugged. “Well, I admit, I ain’t had a partner in… decades…. Well, ‘cept Meeko ‘ere, and he only joined me recently too… but… it is nice, I admit, ‘avin’ someone to talk to… who can actually talk back… Usually it’s just me talkin’ to the ghosts…or the spiders… or the automatons…or the walls…”

“That sounds…” Familiar, I wanted to say, but I settled on, “lonely…and not very safe. I mean, it doesn’t seem wise, venturing into hidden places all alone…”

“Eh, no… but… ain’t like anyone’s gonna care if I don’t come back…”

That…also sounded familiar. “No family either, I take it.”

“Heh. I don’t e'en know _what_ my parents were, let alone who. Cingaer…that’s…he was the leader of the gang I spent most my early years with…’e said they found me naked and screamin’ in some old Dwemer ruins they were explorin’ out by the ruins of Old Balmora. Figured I was another of the unwanted brats from the entrenched “refugee” camp nearby, left to the Nix-hounds by a mother who lacked the guts t' dispatch me ‘erself.”

How does one respond to such a statement? It seems so paltry, but the best I could muster was, “I’m so sorry…”

She just shrugged. “That’s life. Been that way since I been cognizant. I guess it was all dif’rent ‘fore the Red Year but… I ain’t quite so old as t' remember.” A chuckle, then, “I take it you’ve never been there yerself… t’Morrowind, I mean.”

“That obvious, is it? Heh. Well, no… I’ve not. Not since I was born, anyways. My parents sent me away when I was a child. I… never really knew them because of that… but…they didn’t want to risk my life for their ‘calling’.”

“Calling… so they were missionaries too, then?”

“Yes… devotees of Zenithar, and utterly dedicated to helping their brothers and sisters still suffering in the aftershocks of Morrowind’s apocalypse. But…well, it sounds like you know the conditions of those places – the disease, the poverty, the crime…” Lee nodded. “They couldn’t abandon their mission, but they didn’t want to subject me to that life either. So, they sent me here, to Skyrim, to live with my Uncle. They were killed, some years later – a burglary gone wrong, I was told – but the funeral was long over by the time word reached me, and… Mara forgive me, but I’ve never been back. I hope to visit their graves someday but…” A familiar guilt washed over me, thinking of that distant crypt, of people I’d never known, whose faces I could not even recall. “They led a long, happy life and did a lot of good. …More than I can say for myself…”

Lee was silent at this. “How…if y’don’t mind me askin’…how’d you get involved with Vaermina’s cult anyways?”

“Well…” I took a deep breath. “My…uncle was a decent sort. A hard worker, sober and sensible… but as a sailor, his heart belonged to the sea…. And mine…. Well, I confess, I am prone to sea sickness.” 

“Oh no!!” she laughed. 

I flashed a small grin. “Indeed… so, it was determined pretty early on that I wasn’t going to be able to come with him as a cabin boy, as had been his original intent. Instead, he left me to tend his home whilst he was away at sea. It… well… it was a lonely sort of existence. Dawnstar isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis, and the only people relatively close to my age were humans… growing up and growing old whilst I was still relatively young. It also isn’t a particularly erudite town. The people are wise in their way, but it’s a town of miners, sailors, and fishermen…. And….” I sighed. “That sort of life simply never appealed to me.”

“Understand that…” she muttered, but gestured for me to continue.

“Well, so… mostly, I stayed in my uncle’s place, reading and re-reading the same old books and songs, dabbling with magic and alchemy, and trying to teach myself to play the lute. Music, y’see.…it’s good company when you’re alone…"

“So, one day, a pair of itinerant musicians came to town – a nord and a dunmer. They had planned to only stay a day or two, playing at the inn for enough coin to carry them on to Riften and eventually Cyrodil, but a particularly powerful blizzard chose that week to blow in, making travel all but impossible. The inn was soon full to bursting with stranded sailors and caravaneers, so when I offered to let them stay with me in my uncle’s home, the pair was more than eager. And I…… For the first time, I truly knew what it was to have friends, to understand that… ‘camaraderie’ they sing about in songs. The boys… you met them as Veren and Thorek… they were intelligent, learned… wonderful conversationalists, and bursting with creativity and passion. The stories they told, the songs about. ...it made my entire life to that point seem even more drab and dreary than it had been. Honestly, it was hardly a decision at all. I left a note for my uncle, slipped the key under the door mat, and left with the musicians as soon as the roads were passable. And for a while, it was enough. The open road, good friends, good music… and…” I hesitated, embarrassed. “a good amount of wine and…psychotropic substances…”

“And all that entails…?”

“…and all that entails…” Gods. I was such a fool… even now, I feel my skin darkening with the sheer embarrassment of it. Lee though… she just shrugged. And… I continued my tale. I told her everything… of how, upon reaching Cyrodil, my friends finally explained their actions were not just in good fun but for the reverence of their Dark Lady, the goddess Vaermina, and how their intent in traveling to Cyrodil was to join with their brothers at her temple…and wouldn’t I join them? We would be a family of visionaries and artists, exploring the depths of our subconscious and the edges of our reality through dreams and drug-induced ‘experiences’. We would sing our songs in her praise, educate and better ourselves under her tutelage, and through our actions, shape our lives to our truest desires. ….and of course, I joined them. It seemed so right at the time, as if I had found my destiny…

…even if that destiny seemed to have led us not to some great temple as I had imagined, but a musty crypt under a crumbling, forgotten fort long abandoned. 

And so it was there, I told her, that I was ‘adopted’ into the priesthood of the Queen of Nightmares…and into an existence even more isolated and lonely than my previous. Far different than what I had expected, my time as a novice acolyte was cold and sterile. We were to spend many hours in meditation and prayer, together in one room but forbidden to speak. Of how when we inevitably broke the rules, we were locked in suffocatingly small cells or even coffins until the priests remembered to retrieve us... of the routine “journeys” to Quagmire through the use of noxious mixtures of chemicals and herbs, and the horrific visions we were subjected to until even the most atrocious acts and actions seemed positively mundane.

And… I told her how those atrocious visions became a sickening reality as we ‘graduated’ to the priesthood proper. Of the rituals and…experiments in which we participated……of our ‘work’ to blur the lines between Nirn and Quagmire so that Vaermina could better access the dreams of mortals, collecting their memories and hopes for her own perverse pleasure…

And I told her too of the euphoria we felt at our success, how magnificent those moments were that we spent together, praising the dark lady in song and prayer, at the twisted, giddy merriment we felt at another’s psychological anguish…

Gods help me, it was like that night in Morthal with Brother Olef all over again… I started talking and couldn’t stop. Perhaps the horrors of the day had stirred those old memories and nightmares to the surface… perhaps it was the impartiality of that mask, gazing at me stern but calm as I confessed every bloody deed, every twisted crime… …perhaps I simply wanted her to recognize me for what I am… a monster and coward, the last person she would want at her side… perhaps I wanted her to tell me to leave her presence, to kill me even…

Of course, she didn’t. As I stood there on that lighthouse parapet, my vision increasingly obscured by flash frozen tears and shaking less from the cold and more from the sheer anguish of my guilt, she simply said in a soft tone, “…so…what changed?”

“…the location, honestly… It’s one thing to prey on a bunch of imperial strangers. The high priests tell you they are a bunch of ignorant bumpkins and you accept it, revel in your supposed superiority… But I knew _these_ people… yes, they are largely illiterate or poorly read; yes, they are superstitious and prone to petty small-mindedness… But they are also honest, hardworking… certainly not deserving of the torment we unleashed. Even for all the years I’d spent training, even with all of the… substances we routinely ingested that ‘elevated’ our minds, actively detaching us from reality… I found myself…doubting…questioning… …resisting….”

She nodded. “It was personal… well, why’d yeh come back t’Skyrim in the first place anyway?”

“Well, we… Veren, Thorek, and I… upon being deemed as full-fledged priests, the abbot of the temple in Cyrodil charged us to carry the will of Vaermina to Skyrim, since we supposedly had local knowledge of the place … and to carry it out, we were gifted with one of the dark lady’s sacred artifacts…”

“That ugly arse skull, eh?”

“Heh. Yes… that ‘ugly arse skull’…”

“And you suggested the old ruins near Dawnstar?” 

  
“The ruins, yes, to my shame, though it was Veren who actually suggested Dawnstar. It seemed fitting, he said, as it was where our journey together had begun… and there was a sort of poetry in bringing _Night_ mares to the town of _Dawn_ star…” 

“So…we came… The temple was easily established and soon our number grew with devotees from all over Skyrim who hitherto had practiced alone, along with a new recruit here and there, seeking purpose and community as I had once… and oh, we had purpose… dark, evil purpose… We worked to further what we had learned in Cyrodil, experimenting with the flora and fungi native to Skyrim to produce stronger psychotropics, and used the Skull of Corruption to weaken the wall between Nirn and Quagmire…”

“And the folks in Dawnstar didn’t notice?”

“We…didn’t venture out much, and kept to ourselves when we did. And if asked, the reply we gave was that we were a group of mages and alchemists looking to further our art…which…well, it was true. Just…only a part of the story. But… no one ever questioned it, or came to investigate our actions. As far as they could tell, we weren’t hurting anyone after all… and we were careful not to draw attention to ourselves, focusing our efforts on vagabonds, outcasts, and others who… who wouldn’t be missed….”

“And bandits…”

“Aye…and bandits…” I sighed deeply. “You….know the rest, more or less. One group of bandits…well, an orc war party rather… they caught on to our machinations as the cause of their sleepless nights and attacked. We might have been well practiced in the art of psychological torment and alchemy, but in actual physical combat?” I shook my head. “So… Veren made the call to release the miasma we had been working on in a sort of scorched earth defense….and I….. I….”

“You released it, then ran…”

“….I…. yes…” I managed to look at her again only to find she had removed the mask …though her expression was almost as unreadable, and it kept me from asking her then how she could have possibly known my role in that fateful night.

“So… two questions…”

“…Alright…”

“First off… is anyone else in town aware of who you are? Or what you been up to all this time?”

I shook my head. “No… I don’t think so, anyways… My uncle… I understand that he perished at sea not long after I left, and everyone else that I grew up with…well…”

“Human.”

“Exactly…. Frida…she’s about the only one who might be able to remember me, but she was a mere babe when I first left town… and I made a point of never leaving the temple when we came back…”

“I see….and second question… …which one is your real name? Erandur or Casimir?”

For a moment, I was startled again by her knowledge, but then recalled, “Oh…that’s right. Veren called me that when we … met him…”

“Mn… but also…well... that’s what they were callin’ me…er…callin’ you in the Dreamstride….”

“In the Dreamstride…” Oh. That certainly explained things. 

“Right. Who better to get me to the room with the release chain and the gem powering the barrier than the guy who pulled it?”

“…..who better indeed. I guess… I should have realized….”

“Third question, come to think of it… how did you know that’s where I’d end up? I mean, reading through that book of recipes, it sounds like Vaermina coulda sent me t' pretty much anywhere, put me in some sort of dire peril…”

“Yes… but I also knew… The Skull had been languishing in its prison for years, growing ravenous with disuse. I figured…hoped…that Vaermina would see our efforts to destroy the skull as a chance to free it, and put her trust in our demise at the hands of her devoted to restore it, and her, to greater power…”

“Or for me to take it and be her new champion…” Lee mused. Seeing my confusion, she raised a brow. “You didn’t hear her tryin’ t’ convince me t’kill you while you were tryin’ to banish that nasty stick back to Oblivion?”

“She…what…?”

“Oh. Well, yeah. The whole time you were …doin’ whatever it is you priest types do, I kept hearing this obnoxious little voice in my brain. Kept tellin’ me that you were gonna betray me, grab the skull, and use it to kill me or…somethin’… That I should kill you first, take it, and be her new champion.”

“….but…you didn’t…”

“Hell no, I didn’t! Look, f’lah, I may be a low-born tomb-robbin’ dirt-encrusted bastard from the back alleys of the wastes of Balmora, but even I have standards!” She grinned. “And personally, I put about as much stock in the commands of Aedra and Daedra as I do in those of kings and jarls… aaaand given that I find most ‘authorities’ t’be about as useful as wings on a netch… Not to mention, you did see that thing, right? Gods awful ugly! And what the hell would I do with it anyway? I mean, I can stash it with the staff Sheogorath gave me I suppose but..”

“Wait…Sheogorath…”

“Oh, yeah… it’s…. it’s a bit of a long story and… if you don’t mind, it’s as frigid as Cold Harbor here… and I think we could both use a hot bath and a bit of supper… Remind me to tell y’about it, though. It’s a pretty amusing story, really.”

“I… I will do that…”

“Oh hey, and ‘Rand…” She paused her patter, growing more serious again and placing a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for…trustin’ t’ tell me all of that. It sounds… well… rough is an understatement but…”

“It’s …. I should be thanking you…that you’re still willing to talk to me even…”

“Che, no worries. Yer hardly the first cultist or ex-cultist of some crazy Daedra I’ve worked or even palled around with… so…” She smiled again. “’slong as you don’t try to poison my tea or cut off a toe for some experiment or another, we’re good. …...and I don’t know about you, but I am _starving_ … and in desperate need of a bath. And a drink. …Not necessarily in that order… or perhaps all at the same time…” She stopped, crouching at the trap door leading back into the lighthouse keep and turned.

“By the way, you never did answer my second question…”

“No… I suppose not… well, Erandur is my true name… Casimir….it was a name given to me when I joined the temple…”

“Another tactic t’distance you from yer past eh?” I nodded. “Ah…well…” She stood again and offered me her hand, which I took hesitantly. “Lilietha o’ Balmora, pleased t’make yer acquaintance.”

“Lilietha…?”

“Hehe. What ol’ Cingaer called me. Guess it was the name of some bar maid back in Valenwood he had the hots for or somethin’ but…”

I smiled. “Well, Lilietha. Erandur of Dawnstar. And the pleasure is mine.”

We shook hands, before she winked at me and opened the door, jumping down into the darkness below. “But seriously, though, just call me Lee, ey? Save you some syllables.” I just smiled and followed her through those now silent halls, back to our shivering horses, and finally, back to Dawnstar.

And so, that brings me back to the present. The dog, Meeko, is still asleep…and snoring quite loudly. I suspect there will be plenty of activity soon enough, though. Lee and the funeral party should be back soon. Skald will probably give some overblown funeral speech, undoubtedly working his own pro-Stormcloak sentiments in somehow, after which Brina Merilis with provide a more traditional sermon. Perhaps I too will be called upon to lead the congregation in prayer. Love, after all, is the best path towards healing a wounded spirit or broken heart.

And then? …ah, I hear the sound of keening… they are returned. 

Addendum

I was right in my predictions, but despite Skald’s bluster and the bitterly cold wind, the funeral went…well. Lee took her turn to rest (and, I believe, to take that long soak in the bath she had spoke of) whilst I tried to provide what comfort I could for the grieving in the role of priest. 

We met up again late in the evening over a delayed supper of stew. “I hate funerals,” she muttered, downing half her bottle of mead in a swig. “Bloody depressing.”

I nodded. “Yes… but at least now the families can start to heal…”

“Mn. I suppose…” She swirled the bottle, seeming to be deep in thought. Suddenly, as if remembering something, she snapped her fingers and leaned in. “Oh, hey, a courier from Solitude caught me earlier today, had a message from an old friend. …okay, not an old friend. Hell, not sure I’d say he’s a friend but…”

“A message?”

“Yeah. From Falk Firebeard…”

“…the steward…”

“Yeah, that’s ‘im. So, little history here, but a few weeks back, I’d stumbled into Solitude lookin’ for work and somewhere to sell off some of the junk I’d picked up, right? And this snooty elf gives me some shite about wot I’m wearin’……look, long story short, I was up at the Blue Palace modeling some overdone ‘dress’ for the snooty elf and overheard this imperial bloke worryin’ about some lights and disappearances o’er by Dragon’s Bridge, right? Well, after I get done showin’ off the ugly dress to the queen, which is what the snooty elf was payin’ me to do, I go over and say t’the steward fellow that I overheard them talkin’, and did he need someone t’go check it out? Well, turns out ‘e wasn’t goin’ t’bother. Guess it’s one of those places with a nasty history that makes folks all jumpy. But, hey, if I wanted to do that he’d make sure I was paid for my time.”

“Sooo, me an’ Meeko head out there and right away, we know somethin’s up since the place is guarded by skeletons right outside the cave mouth… well, anyway, turns out the place was crawlin’ with necromancer types, and aside from the usual ‘oh, let’s bring a bunch of ancient nord corpses back to life for the fun of it’ nonsense, they were also tryin’ t’summon ol’ Queen Potema and… I guess bind her to their will…”

I nearly spit out my wine at this. “They…you’re kidding… please tell me you stopped them!”

“Che, of course! Oh, it was great fun, too. …er…well…in a manner of speakin’ anyway… But the s’wits were all out walkin’ around on balconies and parapets right across from a high ledge… perfect spot for an archer to take’m all out without’m even knowin’ I was there… But….”

She handed me a scrap of paper, the note written in an elegant but firm hand. “So anyway, sounds like there’s been somethin’ of a development. I… I think I have an idea what it is too… see, when I finally managed to hit the old crone leadin’ the ritual, all the power they’d gathered in that cave went flittin’ out a hole in the roof. I was hopin’ it was just the power itself dissipatin’ like, but I gotta feelin’ they got a bit closer to bringin’ back the homicidal monarch than I’d’ve liked…. And if I’m right, she’s pro’lly manifestin’ somewhere else now, so…”

“More taking on hordes of undead and necromancers, eh?”

“Yeah… what I’m figurin’…” She raised a brow and smirked at me. “You game?”

And I chuckled. “Sure. I’m game.”

“Great! I figure we leave tomorrow mornin’ then.”

“Sounds good,” I replied…and I mean it. Sure, blasting my way through battalions of walking corpses and malicious, misguided mages isn’t exactly how I planned to spend the rest of my days when I first returned to Dawnstar, and sure, I never planned to again take the company of those who serve the Daedra, even in so casual a manner as Lee seems to... but… this path… it feels right. And Lee can profess all she wants to being a mere low-born treasure hunter, but there’s much more to her, to her destiny. I can feel it. And …perhaps, through her, by fighting the forces of darkness at her side, I can finally be forgiven… not only by Lady Mara, but by myself.


End file.
